


Scorching Saturn

by 43501



Category: Twelve Forever (Cartoon)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Fingerfucking, Melolagnia, POV Second Person, Succubi & Incubi, Vaginal Fingering, Voice Kink, [BW is basically a potential succubus in this fic]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 03:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20400784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/43501/pseuds/43501
Summary: A beautiful dream.[Butt Witch x Female Reader. Elements of cunnilingus (receiving), fingering (giving) and lots of voice kink.]





	Scorching Saturn

**Author's Note:**

> Album accompaniment: http://suan.fm/mix/HkVu9ARQH

When you try to stand your body is a dead weight, unbearably heavy as if you’re rousing from a deep slumber. As soon as you’re upright with eyes wide open a vague, persistent sense of unreality blankets your perception. The breeze caressing your face, the sparkling sea laid out before you and the plush sand gently compressing beneath your feet all seem perfectly tangible and yet not real at all. Where on earth were you?

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, a riot of pastel shades come into bleary focus. When the patchwork-colored smears of your vision finally resolve you’re awed by the sheer, uncanny beauty of the scene before you, gazing out over this stretch of beach. Brightly colored sand of different hues swirl together, as if meticulously sculpted by hand, forming marbled rainbow patterns all along the shore. Beyond the backshore stands a pastel jungle, the fronds of the cyan-and-pink coconut palms swaying softly in the wind.

You make your way toward the copse, past the dunes and backshore, into the forest, driven by a desire to delve deeper into this oneiric wonderland. The ocean disappears behind you and sand soon gives way to grass and sturdy ground. Here, the densely-packed soil looks and feels well-trodden, making you wonder if there are dream-entities about who make use of the forest path. 

As if pontificating on the possibility of other beings called one up, you hear rustling nearby. You can’t pinpoint the noise - it seems to be stopping and starting and moving around, sometimes to your left and sometimes to your right. This is no errant breeze, it’s the telltale sound of something large moving deliberately through the brush. Eventually, the noises subside back into stillness. If whatever it is doesn’t want to show itself yet, you figure you can’t force the situation. You try to put it out of your mind and continue walking.

Entranced by the bizarre variety of flora, you lose track of how long you’ve walked. An indeterminate length of time passes as you wander, still in a heavy fugue, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Throughout the forest clusters of fungi grow just beyond the path here and there, caps resembling the tops of cupcakes, painted with thick layers of icing and adorned with chocolate buttons. Various bushes appear to yield bonbons and gumdrops rather than berries or fruit. Wildflowers grow at the base of the trees, petals made of fondant. 

There’s the rustling again. This time it sounds as though it’s approaching and you freeze in place. Your eyes train on the source of the noise, not knowing what to expect. The foliage twitches for a moment before a creature somewhere between a cat and a rabbit comes bounding out of the underbrush, passing by in a flash.

Some time later - it’s difficult to tell - the path opens into a small circular clearing. A magnificent, bare-branched crystalline tree grows at the center of the glade, glimmering in the mottled sunlight tumbling down through the canopy. Drawing closer, you realize the texture doesn’t resemble crystal at all. It’s more like poor-quality glass with wonky, uneven planes, impurities like air bubbles trapped inside. Curious, you press your tongue to a branch protruding around your level. The taste of sugar rolls over your tongue. Not crystal, but candy. Just like everything else in this forest.

There’s a sound immediately behind you. Acting on reflex, you reach up and snap off the tree branch, whirling around and wielding it like a weapon.

“Come out!” Your higher-pitched than intended yelp is swallowed by the candy jungle.

There’s a brief moment of stillness, as if your pursuer is evaluating the request to reveal themselves. Finally, the brush parts as a bizarre, draconic creature slithers out from its cover, crawling upon six limbs with a long, thin tail in tow. The creature rears up onto its hind legs and appears to morph its shape, limbs shortening and tail vanishing into its body, leaving behind a relatively humanoid being in its place.

A four-armed woman at least six feet tall stands before you. She’s no longer a lizard but a ridiculous caricature of femininity with generous, wide-set hips below an impossibly cinched waist. Her red jumpsuit is flawlessly form-fitting, hugging every curve and crevice, shrink-wrapped around her body like a second skin. You glance at her shoulders and elbows, where there should be evidence of rumpled material, finding nothing. Bobbed chin-length hair frames her apple-green face, curling upright into a form resembling horns.

"Oh!” the voice is a complete mismatch to her body, affected and masculine, nearly startling you enough to drop your weapon, “come now, there's no need for violence."

"Unless you're into that sort of thing, perhaps." Her upper set of arms are raised in a gesture of mock surrender while the lower set fold across her waist. You blink up at her dumbly and she meets your gaze, rose-colored eyes wide and unblinking. Her inhuman features and crazed smile give her a somewhat wicked appearance but you don’t get the sense she carries any ill intent. In fact, she seems to be waiting for some sort of acknowledgment.

“I know you’ve been following me.”

"Well done!” Both sets of arms offer a little round of applause. “But I suppose I'm not as stealthy as I used to be. I mean you no harm, I assure you. I was merely observing."

"Observing?" You repeat back to her. The questions swirling around in your head are so numerous you’re struggling to get anything out. The woman bounces on her heels impatiently, lilac locks gleaming in the sunlight. "Why? Who are you, and what do you want with me? Where are we standing right now? What am I holding?"

"One question at a time. I'd be happy to answer your queries, but I feel it'd be best if we went somewhere a little more... private.” She points toward the weapon in your hand, still brandished at her. “And stop pointing that thing at me, it’s rude.” Her enunciation is sharp on the final word, as if it's a nigh-unthinkable transgression of social mores

The strange, snapped-off tree branch slips out of your grip. As it connects with the ground and shatters into a dozen useless pieces you realize you complied without hesitation. 

Her manic grin twitches a fraction wider. “There we go, much better. Now, my home isn’t far-”

“Okay,” You cut her off and she pouts, “I’ll come with you, but explain why you have to take me to a second location just to answer a couple of-”

“Listen to me.” Now you’re the one being cut off and she closes in on you with a long-legged stride, grasping your shoulders in all four hands. The heavy scent of cloying, sweet perfume surrounds you and when she speaks her teeth seem sharper all of a sudden. “Your presence here is highly unusual, and I believe you can assist me with something. Besides, it’s dangerous out here! This island is positively crawling with awful, dreadful creatures!”

Visions of rainbow sand, scampering bunny-cats and candy forests pass through your mind. Although your sense of time is distorted here, you must have been traversing this fantastical dreamscape for a while now. Nothing you encountered could be described as an awful, dreadful creature. The only thing that put you ill at ease was the awareness of something slinking around in your periphery, watching you. Her. The suggestion is absurd, a transparent lie. You try not to let disbelief show on your face. “... At least tell me your name, then.”

Your compliance satisfies her, even with the concession you’re demanding. She relaxes and releases you. Her lower set of arms retract into her body, just as you had seen her tail do earlier, and she shakes herself off from the effort of it. “Oh, that’s not important. Address me as ‘ma’am’ if you must. Though I confess I’m rather partial to ‘your highness’, or ‘your majesty’, or perhaps ‘my liege’...”

Without the interruption you wonder how long she’d stand there imagining self-aggrandizing titles for herself. “Your highness,” you interject again, although this time she seems pleased about it, flashing an even wider smile and flipping her hair, “please take me to wherever your home is.” 

“Splendid.” With that, she lunges forward to seize your arm, pivoting on her heels and dragging you off in the direction she came. The handling is so rough that you feel your shoulder pop in its socket for a split second. You start to protest but almost end up with a mouthful of twigs and leaves, she’s pulling you so mercilessly through the dense sea of bush.

It can’t have been that long before you both emerged out the other side, but the assault by vegetation made the trip excruciating. Your skin burns and you need a moment to catch your breath. She seems completely unscathed.

“Here we are! See, I told you it wasn’t far,” she says, looking out over the clearing, “you’d wandered pretty close. How lucky.”

Her ‘home’ appears to be a gigantic vacuum cleaner, canister half-buried in the sand with a hose and head above ground.

“Come.”

The woman squeezes her buxom body past the flaps of the vacuum cleaner’s intake, struggling for a moment before disappearing into it. You size up the object, considering your options before sidling sideways through it. Once you’ve passed through the vacuum’s mouth you peer down and see a steep, human-sized passageway leading into an underground room. It’s easier to slide down than to crawl.

When you reach the bottom she’s already standing there waiting for you, hands on hips. “Welcome to my _boudoir_.” She announces with relish, sweeping out a long arm and inviting you to take in the view.

It’s a large domed room, covered almost entirely from floor to ceiling with pink, high-pile shag carpet. Dozens of orb pendants scattered throughout illuminate the space, floating in mid-air. A decadent bed resembling an open compact mirror stands as the centerpiece of the room with an oversized, gilded birdcage hanging nearby. Along the outer ring of the room there’s a cute beige kitchenette with pink detailing, a comfortable-looking loveseat and a low coffee table with a record player. The sleek, curved shapes and rounded edges of the decor call to mind a spread in a 1960’s interior design catalog.

"How fortunate. It appears my..." The woman glances around and halts mid-sentence, as if searching for the right descriptor, "... companion is still out running an errand for me. It'd be a dreadful pain if I had to throw him out."

So she lives here with someone else. A lover, perhaps? Turning to face the bed again you notice that it’s sized for two people.

She must have inferred your thoughts from what you were staring at. She heaves a dramatic sigh and kneads her temples. “It’s not what you’re thinking. He sleeps over there.” Your eyebrows raise as she points, quite emphatically, to the birdcage suspended over her bed instead of the sofa at the edge of the room. “And he’s rather useful, gathering reagents for me as we speak.”

The hasty, uncalled for explanation is intriguing. In the short time you’ve known her she’s only ordered you around, so you can’t resist the opportunity to snark her. “Whatever you say.”

It’s the first time you’ve spoken in a while and it’s all you needed to say. You try to suppress your smile as she gives you a very stern look, her usual grin reversing into an equally unsettling frown. A moment passes and she waves away the comment, “Ha ha. Yes, you’re so very witty. Anyway, make yourself comfortable.”

Following her suggestion, you make your way over to the loveseat and sit. The cushions smell slightly dusty, like an antique. She saunters past you and squats down in front of the coffee table, retrieving a thick stack of equally archaic records from the bottom shelf, shuffling through them.

“Well? Go on. Bore me with your questions.”

Earlier you had a laundry list of questions about this place and the things you’ve seen. To your chagrin, none of them come to mind now. You want to know more about her instead. “Alright. Who are you?”

“The rightful owner of this miserable, garish island.” She pauses on one particular record with a groovy yellow-and-orange case, band name spelled out in a drippy font. She decides against it and continues shuffling. “And I plan to take back what’s mine once I’ve built up enough strength.”

“Take back? From whom?”

“From that wretched brat who took over while I was incapacitated.” At last, she finds one she’s satisfied with. She slips the vinyl out of the sleeve, loads it onto the record player’s spindle and shoves the stack back onto the shelf. “This world responds to the whims and desires of the humans who visit it, you see. For better or for worse.”

You watch attentively as she works with the machine, toggling a switch and adjusting a couple of knobs. With another flip of a switch the record whirrs into motion. She releases the tone arm and nudges it into place, carefully dropping the needle on the outermost ring of the vinyl. The first few seconds of the track pop and crackle from overuse before the song opens on a hypnotically repetitive bass riff with a steady drum backing. As the song builds, a meandering, reverb-drenched sitar forms the melody line.

Music fills the air. There’s a strange, implacable quality to it that makes your head spin. It’s soft at first but even so feels too loud. It crowds your ears, scattering the other questions you’d been trying to marshal. Somehow, the situation is slipping away from your grasp. The sensation is comparable to when she ordered you to drop your weapon earlier.

Finished with the turntable, she closes the dust cover and stands, making her way over to where you’re sitting and dropping into the seat beside you.

“I’ve kept my end of the bargain. Now it’s your turn to answer something for me.” She places a hand under your chin, turning your face up to look at her. All trace of her arch flippance is gone and her wide, glaring eyes bore into yours. “How did someone like you end up here?”

You try to recall what happened before you woke up to salty air and sunlit tides. It dawns on you that it’s not just your perception of time that’s warped here - your memories are fragmented as well. Who you are, where you’re from, what you’ve done, they’re all in disjointed tatters. It takes you longer than it should to remember your own name. On some level you realize this should make you fearful, but you’re not. You’re perfectly at ease with forgetting.

You give her your answer. “I’m sorry. I have no idea. The last thing I can remember was laying down in my own bed.”

Her demeanor shifts instantly and her eyes narrow to slits in sudden understanding. “I see. Most fascinating. So to you, this is all a dream.”

“Well, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes. Of course it is. It’s a dream.” The hand holding your chin moves to pat your cheek patronizingly instead. Her other hand passes over your forehead and scalp, sweeping your hair back away from your face. Her touch is firm and insistent and your body welcomes it, shivering on contact. 

“Nothing you do here is of any consequence at all. You can do whatever you like. You can even...” her deep voice drips delicious suggestion, “give in.”

She dips down and plants slow, lingering kisses in a trail up the side of your neck, along your jaw and cheek, eventually coming to rest on your mouth. Her lips are soft and supple. Your entire reality narrows to the smooth glide of her mouth on yours and the blazing warmth in those precious few places your body meets hers. She keens into your mouth and slides the tip of her tongue along the seam of your lips, urging them open, and as always, you comply. A long, serpentine tongue greets your own as your mouths melt together, hot and sweet. The heaviness between your legs transfigures into an aching, hollow emptiness and the claws of desire hook deeper in your loins.

Something she said tugs at your mind, but you don’t want to pull away from her. You break the kiss only a fraction, speaking against her mouth. “What did you mean by ‘someone like me’?”

“You know. With a body like mine.” Greedily her hand slithers down the front of your body from your shoulder. It cups, then smooths and slides, eventually settling on the curve of your hip. The next thing she says is barely above a whisper, spoken with a sort of breathless reverence: “_Grown up_.”

"Hmmmm," you murmur, “no other adults here?”

"No. Well, not really. Not in the way that you and I are." This fragment tumbles through your scattered mind and evades comprehension. You don’t understand what she means by it. “And that’s what makes you such a valuable resource.”

“A valuable resource...”

"There are many different things I can draw power from.” She explains, slowly lowering you onto your back beneath her. Her warm, dulcet tones hum through you and make your stomach clench with arousal. “Fear, shame, disgust, rage... And my, you certainly do have _those_ things in spades as well. Why, I could smell you from halfway across the island, like the waft of a heady brew over breakfast, bubbling away on a stovetop."

Insulting, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re preoccupied with thoughts of that plump, full body pressed against you.

“And this...” she runs a hand down your body and it sneaks into the space between your legs, fingers gently stroking you there through your clothes. “Is lust.”

“You can do whatever you want with me.” You’re surprised to hear yourself say it, and mean it. Even with your scrambled mind you think you finally understand what she wants, though the details elude you.

“You didn’t have to tell me,” she says with a smirk, “I can smell how much you want it. Such a dirty girl.”

She splays her fingers and concentrates on morphing her hand, fingertips sharpening to keen points. Her spiderlike claws walk down your crotch and perch under your buttocks, pricking the seat of your pants with a clawtip. Then, she lifts and drags it in a line up your crotch, the claw slicing clean through your clothes with surgical precision, somehow leaving the tender skin underneath perfectly intact. She uses both hands to mercilessly tear your pants open, rending the fabric apart.

She crashes her hot mouth into your yearning pussy, forked tongue flicking out over your mound and sliding between your lips. Every nerve in your body flares to life with that first swipe of her tongue against your hood. You try to stifle an undignified grunt. She alternates between lashing your clit with strong, quick strokes and darting down to your entrance, scooping out and swallowing your feminine nectar. The sound between your legs is an immodest cacophony of her heavy, labored breathing, wet popping and thick slurping.

Her hands are tight around your hips, forcing you against her mouth even as you tremble with each lap. Fixing her mouth on your pearl, she sucks enough to create a pleasant pressure while circling her tongue. The multitudinous sensations combine and build and you feel a familiar tightness ebbing through your core.

The woman completely denies you a gentle drop into post-orgasmic bliss, still slurping on your tortured, oversensitive nub like a thick milkshake after your elation subsides. Unpleasant aftershocks surge through your thighs and lower back with her unceasing ministrations, muscles spasming.

“H-hey- ma’am- your highness- Wait!”

She’s heedless of your erratic thrashing, kicking feet and desperate calls. At this point the over-stimulation is so agonizing you struggle upright. Just as you manage to peel yourself away from the couch a hand flies up and straight into your face, shoving you back down. In the split second you had a better look at her, you could’ve sworn her irises were absent, her eyes an eerie white.

Jaw clenched, you endure the onslaught of her ravenous mouth, tongue curling and twisting, eager lips roaming over your sex. On pure impulse your hands fly up and clasp her horns, desperate for something to grab and stabilize yourself, shoving her face into your cunt. The burning, electrical sensations emanating from your pussy soon subside as you cross the threshold and that sweet ache somewhere deep inside returns in full and is immediately satisfied, tumbling you off the edge and straight into another orgasm, and then again, one after another. Your mind goes blank as she continues tongue-fucking you in earnest and all you can register are the blissful waves of climax wracking you over and over.

You snap back into your senses when she finally pulls up from you with a desperate gasp, out of breath and visibly trembling. She looks scarcely human with eyes pure white, maw crowded with monstrous razor-sharp teeth rather than her usual straight smile. A glistening mix of your fluids and her saliva runs down her chin in thick globs. She squeezes her eyes shut and draws in a long steadying breath. When she blinks them back open they’re pink again and she seems her usual self. Recomposing, she swipes the wetness around her mouth off on the back of a hand.

Shakily, you manage to sit up despite your spinning head and fading energy. But you’re not finished yet. You shuffle forward and advance on her, trying to instruct her to fall under you. “Okay, let’s switch now.”

She appears genuinely perplexed by this proposition, brow furrowed. “What?”

Her confusion confuses you in turn and you stare at one another in an awkward, bewildered silence. You thought what you were suggesting was pretty straightforward, but apparently not. “Well, you know... You took care of me. It’s only fair that I return the favor now, right?”

“That’s really not necessary,” she says, “you were doing me the favor. There’s nothing to repay. I’ve fed off you and gotten what I needed. You can run along now if you’d like.” Her eyes drift down your body. “Although I suppose we’d need to do something about that, wouldn’t we?”

“Not everything is an obligation,” you explain. What is with this woman? “I just want to make you feel good.”

She blinks, then folds her arms and averts her eyes, musing. You notice her glancing over at the entrance to the room as she evaluates the situation. After a few moments pass, she answers you.

“Oh, alright. If you insist.”

She lays herself down before you, spread-eagled prosaically. She’s quite tall so one leg is bent and propped up against the backrest while the other hangs off the loveseat. It would probably be easier to move this to the bed but neither of you can be bothered. She snaps her fingers and a chunk of her jumpsuit just evaporates off her body in a puff of green smoke, leaving a perfectly circular cut-out around her crotch, exposed in much the same way you are.

Her snatch is modest and smooth, devoid of pubic hair. The clit and labia are a deep emerald, a few shades darker than her skintone.

"Hmph! Not what you were hoping for, I take it? I can make it into something else, if you'd prefer."

Make it into something else? It’s entirely within the realm of her abilities as a shapeshifter, you suppose, but she seems pretty miffed. Did you touch a nerve about her appearance? You can tell she’d rather not, and you don’t particularly want her to either, so you answer her with a shake of your head.

You reach out and touch her, timid at first, gingerly sliding your fingers between her glossy folds. With the way she almost turned you down a moment ago, you didn’t expect her to be this aroused. She’s practically dripping. You twist your hand around, positioning the pad of your thumb on her clit and easing two fingers inside of her, only up to the first knuckle as you test the waters. There’s no surprises here, like her forked tongue or disappearing irises. As far as you can tell it’s a like perfectly normal, human vagina.

You stroke lightly into her, gathering her wetness on your fingertips. She writhes against your hand and seizes her own breasts so tightly their flesh bulges out between her squeezing fingers, bellowing out a distinctly male moan. Just how long has it been since someone touched her? The juxtaposition of her voice and body is more prominent than ever like this. You briefly imagine more of those throaty, baritone moans tumbling from girly lips. You need to see it. You need to hear it.

You plunge your fingers the rest of the way into her, fully hilted down to your knuckles. Your heart drops when she arches her back and huffs but doesn’t vocalize. Disappointing, but the lack of response only spurs you on and you pick up the pace, working two fingers in and out of her cunt with purpose, curling your fingers in search of her sweet spot. Above, your thumb rubs tight, concentric circles around her clit.

Her eyes have fallen shut, expression soft and neutral. She’d almost look like she were asleep if her cheeks weren’t flushed. Hardened nipples peek through the conforming jumpsuit and she rolls them delicately between thumb and forefinger while you work, playing with herself. It's a sharp contrast to her usual demeanor and you can't help but find it captivating.

Hoping to provoke the sounds you so desperately want to hear, you redouble your efforts, thrusting with the strength of your entire arm, furiously pumping into her. A twinge of pain shoots out from your shoulder, probably because she yanked it earlier. You push past it and grit your teeth, spearing her over and over again. She's so wet that your strokes are near frictionless and sound of rhythmic squelching mingles with the still-playing music. 

You wish you had something more substantial to fill her with. All you can do is slow down just long enough to fit a third digit into her. Her breath stutters in response to the addition, pussy clamping down on you like a vice and just about cutting off circulation to your fingers. It’s a tightrope act - keeping up the blindingly intense tempo of your thrusts, ensuring your thumb falls on her clit, working through the pain in your shoulder and the steadily-growing numbness in your wrist and fingers. 

Your efforts are soon rewarded. Her body stiffens and shudders under you before her head lolls back on the armrest and those deep, impassioned groans fill the air. It sounds glorious. You could listen to it for an eternity. Instead of listening, however, some primal part of you takes over and before you realize what you’re doing you dive forward and latch your mouth on her lips.

“Hhhaa--uuh?”

You swallow the rest of her moans, making her ride out the rest of her orgasm with your mouths connected, your hand still moving in tandem with her bucking hips down below, long and languid.

You pull away from her and she goes limp when you unsheath your fingers. Now she looks just as spent as you are, eyes half-lidded and chest heaving. Shuffling over, you lay down alongside her, wedged between the puffy backrest and her soft, ample body, resting your head on her bosom. This is the most comfortable space you’ve ever occupied. You flex your hand open and shut in an attempt to regain some sensation.

“Hmm. Yes, not bad at all.” She says, idly threading her fingers through your hair. This small gesture sends shivers down your spine. “Though if you were meaning to help me restore my strength, it doesn’t quite work that way. But it was thrilling all the same.”

Her voice reverberates in her chest whenever she speaks. You don’t have a response to what she said and you don’t feel like speaking. You only want to stay like this and bask in her. She shifts around, readjusting for a moment and you think she’s about to push you off but she casually drapes an arm over you instead. The close air smells of heavy evening perfume and sex.

You close your heavy eyes and time drifts on.

The entire universe shifts around you. At least, that’s what it feels like. When you open your eyes again you can’t make sense of anything anymore. The once clearly defined objects in her room are now indiscernible abstract shapes and the corners of your vision are all white. The dream is finally starting to come apart and fade away.

The whiteness is closing in. You can no longer move your body and your senses are fading rapidly. You try to hold on but your consciousness is a ball of string, unraveling and being cast across time and space. Her voice, comfortable and familiar now, is the last thing you perceive before the light drags you under.

“Oh? Leaving so soon? A pity... Come back soon, if you can. I’ll be waiting.”

  


* * *

  


Sensation returns to your body and you can feel its weight against the mattress. The pieces of your mind slowly re-assemble and you realize you’re back in your own room. More accurately, you’re now waking up and you’d never really left at all. The blanket that was draped over you is furiously balled up on the floor, probably tossed aside in the throes of your restless sleep. You stare up at your darkened ceiling.

All a dream, and nothing but.

Sleep is out of the question. You shift restlessly on the mattress, skin hot and heart racing until you finally propel yourself out of bed. In the bathroom, you wince as the blaring light tortures sleep-filled and darkness-adjusted eyes. Cool water splashes in the sink for a few moments before you douse your face.

Leaning in toward the mirror, you look past yourself and into the inverted version of your bathroom existing within this pane of glass. It’s absurd, you realize, but you find yourself peering deeply into the reflection, desperately seeking evidence of a world just beyond your reach, longing for some glimpse of her.

Your blood runs cold when you notice it, hair standing on end. It’s impossible. It’s completely impossible. Your sleep-addled brain scrambles to form a rational explanation for what you’re seeing but it fails to cobble together anything convincing.

You turn your head slightly and tilt your chin up, neck exposed in your reflection. Green kiss marks painted on your skin stare back at you.


End file.
